


Unlike

by hobbitdragon



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Androids, Drunk Sex, F/M, Fingerfucking, Intoxication, Oral Sex, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Naked Now, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 06:50:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15043139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitdragon/pseuds/hobbitdragon
Summary: The sex scene between Data and Tasha in The Naked Now, and the emotional consequences of it, since all of that was left out of the show.





	Unlike

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this more than 5 years ago, when my understanding of trauma and recovery was a LOT more basic. If I had written this more recently, I would have headcanoned that Tasha had a lot more therapy/treatment before this ever happened. But hey, I was projecting trauma all over my favorite characters at the time, so this is what I wrote. 
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: Tasha very explicitly and unambiguously remembers numerous incidents of rape while having sex with Data, including explicit child rape and physical abuse. None of it happens onscreen in this fic, but she's remembering it graphically and as such this is probably disturbing and triggering. Read with care. Also, as with the scenes in canon, both Data and Tasha are intoxicated while having sex, and Tasha would not have consented to this under normal circumstances. 
> 
> There is also no happy ending to this. I intended to write more, but really only got as far as the conversation between Data and Tasha the next day. I of course headcanon that Tasha gets more psychiatric and psychological care after this, but it's not shown onscreen.

She messes up Data’s hair, first, runs her fingers through it and moves it out of its carefully maintained arrangement, pulling it down around his face. It comes to his chin and makes him almost feminine to look at. She smiles more widely and presses her mouth to his again. 

She wonders about the parameters of his kissing program. His actions are not mechanically repetitive as she might expect from someone who’s technically a machine. Or at least they have not gotten repetitive yet. His tongue in her mouth, his tongue on her lips, his lips on hers, and their mouths moving wet and slow. She realizes that this means Soong must have spent quite a lot of time planning and writing his offspring’s intimate life, and that thus Soong himself must not have been a terrible lover. Thinking of the knowledge passed directly from that man to his creation makes the hackles rise at the back of her neck--it is almost as if she were kissing the man himself. 

She pulls away. Data’s face shows immediate concern.

“Has my technique displeased you?”

She smiles rather than answering, because it hides her fear. She knows Data will not be able to tell the difference, since her face is already flushed and her heart is beating fast. She reassures herself with his yellow eyes and inhuman skin color. She does not want a man. She wants the impression of a man, a man at a safe distance from the needs of men. Data has no needs that her body can fulfill. It is the experience he wants, not her mouth or cunt or ass. For once, perhaps, sex can be about her. She pushes him back onto the bed before climbing on top. 

His body is firm beneath hers in ways that are not quite human either. Hard parts where he should be soft, and the skin is not a human texture for all that it’s still soft and supple. She kisses him again, briefly this time, then tilts her head back, offering her neck. 

Data pauses--accessing his files, perhaps, to see what to do with a woman’s neck in this context. Then he kisses the skin of her throat, sucks it very gently, and inquires, “Does this please you, Lieutenant?”

She laughs, punching him on the arm. “I’m not your Lieutenant right now, Data. Right now I’m Tasha.”

He nods formally, and continues, “Tasha, do you enjoy me osculating your neck?”

She laughs again, giggling this time. She feels as though she is floating, and her face is very warm. “What does that even mean, Data?”

“Osculate: to kiss, to come into close contact or union.”

“Then yes, I do enjoy you osculating my neck.”

“What is the correct amount of time for neck osculation? My programming has neglected to include time parameters for this activity.”

“The correct amount of time,” she intones, grateful for further proof of his mechanism, “is as long as I enjoy it.” She slides off him, turning onto her side and pulling his arm around her, presenting the back of her neck for his attention. Apparently his program covers this, and he begins to lick and bite. Her body jolts with pleasure as he lavishes attention on the exquisitely sensitive skin, and she lets herself imagine his mouth on her cunt. 

She remembers being sucked hard by a vicious mouth that had no intention of her pleasure, a mouth that wanted instead to pull the essence right out of her. A mouth with sharpened teeth that bit her till she bled, to match a long prick that stabbed her so she wanted to die. She remembers having long hair, matted with blood and filth, and does not remember having any breasts, so that had to have been among the first times she was raped. 

But the memory is distant, blanketed and declawed. She shudders, remembering, but her mind drifts and she again feels nothing but the lips methodically laving her spine.

She takes the android’s hand and places it on her pubic mound. 

“Do you wish me to stroke you through the fabric, or shall I remove your trousers?”

None of them had ever asked what she wanted. She holds onto the difference.

“Stroke me this way,” she replies after only a second’s pause. Better not get too ambitious. She remembers the only other time she tried to let someone touch her, and the panic attack that followed and left her sleepless for weeks. She pushes one of Data’s fingers into the top of her cleft, positioning it just to the left of her clit where she likes it. She wonders if anyone has ever touched her just exactly there on that little sweet spot on purpose, ever touched her here with the purpose of her pleasure. She doubts it. Certainly there had been men--and one or two women--who sucked her clit, slapped it, stroked it, pinched it, or tortured it with tools, but that had never, ever been about her pleasure. Even making her come had been about power and domination, not pleasure. She tries to remember a time she came voluntarily with another person. The memories are slippery and she is not certain. Much of her life before Starfleet is an uncertainty, now, something she has tried to leave that way. 

Data certainly has no difficulty maintaining two actions at the same time, and attending to her neck and clit does not seem to bother him. She curls her hips, bites her lip to stay silent, and closes her eyes as the first small climax swells and bursts inside her. 

The panic rises with it and for a moment she is certain that he will strangle her. In a second he will lift a hand to her throat to choke her so that she will not struggle as much while he sodomizes her. She lies frozen with fear, her heart thundering in her ears like footfalls in the tunnels. 

“Was that an orgasm, Tasha?” Data asks formally, and it breaks the timeline. 

Blinking, she notices the familiar architecture of her room, and her brain remembers that Turkana IV did not have replicators. Of course it did not have replicators, she would not have had gums bloody from malnutrition if it had, or gotten into knife-fights over food supplies. She smiles at the memory of the medical officer’s horror when he discovered that someone in the 24th century could have  _ scurvy _ . 

“Yes it was, Data. I want more.” Privately she has doubts, but it’s as though some underlying program has been activated in her, too. Because the desire is there, strong enough to surprise her. She can’t remember her cunt warming like this for anyone else. Perhaps no one else has ever been safe enough.

So she separates herself from him, undresses, and lies down beside him once more. Memories keep intruding, but her mind is a pleasurable fog now, and the pain is numb and distant.  _ And I am his superior officer, _ she reminds herself.  _ He obeys my commands.  _

She instructs him to insert his fingers into her, one at a time. Little ripples of climax follow each addition, till all four are crammed into her to the knuckles and she finally feels full enough. His programming thankfully includes ample information on G-spot stimulation, and soon she is melting into her bed.

Her brow creases as she concentrates.  _ The last time anyone filled me like this, I was twelve years old and much smaller, _ she thinks, and it is a relief to know that someone can still fill her even after so many years. 

When she has had enough, she pulls his hand away and rises onto her knees. “Take off your uniform. I want to see what you have.”

She is scared of it, too. But he smiles genially at her, clearly pleased by the request, and removes the suit. Underneath she discovers he is hairless except for a neat patch of manicured pubic hair above his genitals. The hair disturbs her--she does not want hair in her mouth or between her teeth ever again. His genitals are otherwise exactly like those of a human, even including a loose scrotum and a soft foreskin that curls over the lip of the glans. But the whole of the phallus is the same pale, even gold as the rest of his skin, and it makes it easier for her to separate him from all the others who came before him. She wants it in her mouth. 

She must have frowned, however, because Data interjected, “If the hair does not please you, I can remove it.”

“Yes!” she replies, a little too eagerly. “Yes, please. Do that.”

Fascinated, she watches as the follicles retract the hair on command. This, she thinks with a smile, is something no human could ever do. Within seconds, Data’s genitals are pleasingly hairless, and she feels safe enough to gesture him back onto the bed. Spread out for her on his back, she takes him in her hand and open her mouth around it. 

The memories flood into her--being choked this way, gag reflex surging till the nausea overwhelmed her, the smell of semen lingering for hours on her face till she could find clean water to wash it away. She pushes the thoughts away. Not now, not now, she tells herself. He tastes nothing like them, his skin clean and flavorless with only the mildest chemical scent that she supposes must be whatever cleaning solution he uses on himself. So she rubs her tongue along it, pressing it against the roof of her mouth. 

“That is not necessary, Tasha. I am more interested in your pleasure.”

At this, Tasha almost laughs. She has wondered for years why she still wants these organs in her mouth despite all she’s been through. It seems like a cruel joke on the part of the universe, that she should crave it so much despite the danger implicit in the act. But years have passed since she gave up hating herself for masturbating to memories of the slide of cock through her lips. 

She pulls off, trailing spit. “My pleasure, Data, is for you to lie there and let me suck you.”

“Oh.”

He stills again, looking up at her with calm, interested eyes, and with that reassurance she bends her neck again, pulling back the foreskin to reveal the golden glans. Data stays quiescent for her, though she still watches him warily as she curls her lips over her teeth and begins to suck. Her cunt tightens again as the glans nudges the back of her throat, and yet still his face shows nothing but earnest fascination. No gloating or rage--he is clearly recording this experience with interest. 

So she closes her eyes, reaching down with her other hand to stroke herself. He will not begrudge her that, she’s sure. 

**

“May I speak with you, Lieutenant? In Ten-Forward, later this evening.” 

Tasha scowls at him. She knows immediately what this will probably be about. The damned robot couldn’t take a simple order--but then perhaps the idea of pretending that it never happened does not compute well for a factual brain like his. She hopes that is all, and a different phrasing will clear this up. So she nods tersely at Data, and resumes her duties at the controls. 

Her cunt is still sore from the night before. The fact disturbs her now she is....sober. She is jittery, jumping every time Picard clears his throat or Riker shifts in his chair. Deanna is watching her with keen attention, and after Data has resumed his place at the helm, the Counselor rises to speak with Yar as well. 

“Lieutenant--Tasha,” the Counselor corrects herself, and Tasha winces and looks away. “Accompany me on a walk? Captain,” the Counselor says, turning to Picard, “Permission to leave the bridge.”

“Granted,” he says immediately, and watches both women leave with concern. Tasha glances at his face and then immediately looks at the wall, following the Counselor into the turbolift. 

“Tasha,” Troi begins, but Tasha cuts her off. 

“Don’t tell me, I know! My hands have been shaking all day. But I don’t need your damned concern.”

“I know you don’t,” Deanna replies gently. “I just wanted to remind you that I am able to help you work through this. You have suffered in this way for years now, and what you’re feeling right now is very intense. With some very simple treatments from Doctor Crusher and sessions with me--”

“I don’t want anyone touching me or injecting me with chemicals!” Tasha bursts out, hands up as if to protect her face. “I’m not broken, and I can do my job just fine!”

For a moment there is silence, and then Troi reaches out and pauses the turbolift. “No, you can’t,” she murmurs. “You have managed to conceal your pain today. But I've been aware of this long before now, and it will not just go away if you don’t get help. You know this. It is like an infected wound. You can’t keep running forever.”

“I’m never going back there!” Tasha spits, crossing her arms and staring at the wall. Her gaze fixes on a point and does not move. It’s safer that way. “I worked hard to survive and harder to escape. I’m not going back! You can’t make me go back--”

“I don’t want you to go back. I want you to leave it behind,” Troi says, her voice still calm and low. “Memories may feel real, but they can’t harm us. Let me help you with the flashbacks. I care for you, and you don't deserve to be trapped there still.”

Tasha closes her eyes, collapsing against the wall. She refuses to cry in front of Troi, but her eyes burn and prickle and her throat contracts around the tears she refuses to shed. 

“If you let me help you, you will not suffer like this forever. The Captain will let you take time off to recover. With the brain imaging and chemicals available to us today, this will not be as debilitating as you fear. And I am trained to help you manage the triggers.”

Tasha’s whole body is clamped closed. She can’t feel anything below her face and she’s drifting out of even that. The turbolift is far away when Troi calls her back.

“Tasha. Come with me. I’m taking you to sickbay. I know you do not want me to call a medical team, which means you will have to walk yourself. What year is this?”

At first Tasha can make no sense of the words, then she responds automatically. Troi shakes her head.

“It’s fifteen years later than that, Tasha. Where are you right now?”

“The alleyway behind the knife shop,” she responds distantly. 

Troi shakes her head slowly. “No, you’re aboard the Starship Enterprise, in the turbolift. Describe it for me.”

It takes long minutes before Tasha can look at anything but a single button on the control panel. It takes even longer before she can find words again. 

**

By the time she goes to Ten-Forward that evening, the chemicals have calmed her. She is able to stay coherent, if not present. Data has arrived early, she sees, and with a feeling of dread she goes to his table. 

“Thank you for meeting with me, Lieutenant,” he says formally as she seats herself. He looks concerned. She knows it’s an act, a program, but the expression seems real. “I wish to apologize. I was inebriated at the time, and my maker did not see fit to program me with suitable routines for behavior when I am inebriated. I don’t think he thought it would be possible. But my altered state does not excuse my behavior--I took advantage of your altered state.”

Tasha stares at him. This is not what she expected and she can’t make sense of it. “You what?”

“It is evident that you would not have copulated with me under normal circumstances,” Data sighs, a reasonable facsimile of regret showing in his eyes. “And I was more sober than you when I arrived in your quarters. Ergo, I took advantage. That is the simple truth of the situation, and I know this, but I do not know how to make amends.”

She blinks at him, her body heavy with shock. The knowledge that it will take weeks to put herself together after her foolish moment of weakness flits through her mind. Then, slowly, she rubs her face with her hands.

“Data,” she murmurs, and then she can’t find the words. 

_ It was the first time I did it because I wanted to, for me. Don’t take that away from me, _ she thinks, but she doesn’t say it aloud. Mentally she clutches the idea of it, of having been touched solely because she wanted to for once, trying to hold onto it as she feels it slipping away. She is angry at him for caring about her enough to apologize. She wishes he could have simply kept his concern to himself. Finally, after a too-long silence, she closes her eyes. 

_ Just once in my life can I not have been raped? _

“I was a little drunk, not completely out of my mind,” she growls at last. “No worse than when Riker takes someone home while he’s tipsy on one of those planets he visits.”

“Normally I would agree,” Data replies, his soft, earnest face not changing expression. “But today you have been clearly out of sorts, unlike the rest of the crew. Since many of them were ‘drunk’ as well, the only variable present in your case that is not present in theirs is having intercourse with me. Ergo, it stands to reason that you regret the encounter, and that I took advantage.”

“Is it even possible for you to take advantage of someone in that way?” she asks, not sure why she’s arguing. “I would have thought your morality codes would prevent it.”

His expression is perplexed, when she raises her eyes to see it.

“It is impossible for me to force myself on anyone, yes. I have checksums to ensure that any potential sexual partners seem willing, and you met the criteria at the time, when I was also inebriated. But....I do not think Soong agreed with me that sobriety is a necessary criteria for consent, because that belief is not reflected in my programming. It did not occur to me in the moment to examine my own programs for flaws, and I had never thought that I would need to alter it myself in case of my own intoxication.” 

Tasha can feel herself beginning to cry, because he’s so damned patient and so incredibly clueless, but she refuses to cry in Ten-Forward where people might see her, so she gets even angrier instead. Angry at herself, first, because that’s easiest, and then at Data, because he will not be hurt by it and he’s  _ right _ just as much as he’s wrong. She would not have done it if she hadn’t been so drunk, and she’d never wanted to be drunk again, either.  She grits her jaw and clenches her fists on the table, pushing the tears away as she has done for years. 

“I can see that you are upset, Lieutenant. I am sorry. If there is anything I can do to make amends--”

“You can’t make amends for rape,” she cuts him off. She holds her breath for a long moment, then lets it out in a long sigh. “And it’s debatable whether it was, anyway. I wanted it, I initiated it, I was just drunk. That’s not your fault, and it's not your fault you were intoxicated either.” She sighs out a long breath, trying to use it to calm herself as Troi suggested. “How much do you know about PTSD, Data?”

“Accessing.” His eyes flicker for a moment, and then his focus returns to her face. “Oh. I see. What we did must has emotional ramifications that....are not exactly my fault. The human brain stores information in such a way that--”

“Yes Data, I know. Just be thankful your brain does not store information in that way.”

He nods. “It is a surprisingly useful system, enabling humans to react quickly to potentially dangerous stimuli. I am impressed. I can see why it is inconvenient, however--”

“Data.” 

He stops again.

“Yes?”

“I didn’t come here for a lecture. If you’ve gotten your apology off your chest, I'm gonna go.”

He pauses. She remembers his prick in her mouth, the first good memory she has ever had of another creature’s genitals. It feels strange to have even one. 

“I enjoyed our night together, Lieutenant. It was an intriguing experience. If you should ever wish to repeat it--”

“Now is exactly the  _ wrong _ time to proposition me,” she spits.

He nods, and does not offer excuses. It’s one of his attractive qualities. 


End file.
